The Spoken
by la chiede il tuo cor
Summary: I have seen Way too many bad (insert book here)Characters Go to High School" fics. Thus, it must be a real literary challenge to pull it off. First four chapters have been majorly renovated.
1. 1

Many thanks to the wonderful Toff for betaing these for me... She is Amazing, did you know?

This has been majorly renovated... I invented a third party!

I have seen many, many badly written "(insert book here) Goes to High School" fics. However, I don't think that writing a good "goes to hs" fic is either impossible or a crime; I see it as being a very difficult literary challenge. Well, have I succeeded? Only you can decide…

Yes, this is set in America, approximately fifty years in the future. Yes, I changed that. I know that I didn't set anybody in the right 'age order'; I just did what made sense given their various personalities and teenage society today.

THE SPOKEN

Every high school has its groups and cliques. Even Lower Montage High School. There was, however, one group at LMHS that seemed to stick out; a group of boys who spoke in whispers in the library between classes, who met in a local café during the evenings, and who, when the school rose to pledge allegiance to the flag of the United States of America, never said the line "under God", though several of this group attended church. The 'gossips' of the school watched them curiously as they spoke of politics in the halls, but found their attention wandering elsewhere, to other subjects such as the new girl and which males were interested in her. Still, this group of boys existed, away from the social spotlight of the school.

There were nine; Enjolras, Combeferre, Jean Prouvaire, Feuilly, Courfeyrac, Bahorel, Lesgle, Joly, and Grantaire. They were all in different years of school, but had close-knit friendships that are not at all unusual among youth.

Enjolras was the group's unconditional leader. He was in his Junior year, and was at the top of said class; he had raw intelligence and insurmountable drive. He was beautiful in a conventional way, and had an angelic shimmer about him. His words were eloquent and his voice stirring. He was, by much of the female populace of the school, highly coveted, but paid the attention that he was showered with little heed. He had one thought- a passion.

In Enjolras's mind, the country was now turning back on the ideals and basis of it's founding. These changes were not only seen by Enjolras; they were seen by many, but they enraged Enjolras in particular; he hated oppression, and he hated hypocrisy. Today's government, he thought, had both. That third party, the Victors, had come to power in 2008, and had gradually been easing the country away from the Constitution. Its power had only increased along with its hypocricy. And what increases, though only gradually, will continue to increase.

Enjolras was slightly more aloof than the rest of his friends, but was closer to one friend in particular; Combeferre.

Combeferre was a Senior. He was gentle and kind, a sharp contrast to Enjolras, who, though charming, could be severe and abrupt. Combeferre's outlook on life was slightly milder than Enjolras's; Enjolras was of the opinion that soon, the government would have to be overthrown and reinstated, or altered by force. Combeferre wanted to find a more civil approach to the solution of said problem.

Combeferre was a realist; Enjolras was an idealist.

Jean Prouvaire, called Jehan, was a Freshman. He was artistic, smaller than the rest of the boys in his year, and loved romance. He gave off an air of frail delicacy, but could suddenly change his aura to one of strength and masculinity. He had an odd obsession for foreign languages, for the reason of reading various classics in their original tongue. He was intellectual, and so, powerful in his own right.

Feuilly, in Combeferre's year, was an orphan. He was the eldest of his friends at the age of eighteen. He had lived with his aunt through his adolescence, but now lived alone. He was extremely self-sufficient; in addition to his schooling, he worked part-time as an attendant in an electronics store. He paid his own bills with no assistance from his family. He had many convictions, and was history-obsessed for the reason that these convictions be supported by as much fact as was available.

Courfeyrac was a Junior. He sometimes seemed to be younger than his years; he had a certain playful quality about him. While Enjolras was the leader of the group, Courfeyrac was the heart. He was nobody's closest friend; rather, he was everybody's second closest friend.

Bahorel, in his Sophomore year, was the most conventionally 'social' of their group. He was whimsical, and seemed to take little seriously, save for trouble. The teachers were to be mocked, the subjects to be ridiculed. The only thing better than a joke was a quarrel, and the greater the quarrel the better, especially if it was justified. However, he was more of an intellectual than he seemed to be, and his convictions were strongly engrained.

Lesgle was in his Junior year, and had, in his seventeen years, had more bad luck than the rest of the high school put together. He was balding, his father dead, and any relationships that he entered unsteady and brief. However, he took the misfortune well, with a shrug and a wink.

Joly was a Senior, and was a hypochondriac. He was constantly using what knowledge he had of medicine to diagnose himself with a new illness, and had a mirror in his locker for the sole purpose of examining his tongue between classes. Still, he was happy and agreeable.

What do these eight have in common? They all had the belief that the world and their country had been born great, and could be greater; that everybody had to play a part. They were faithful in their convictions; they had strong political and philosophical views that they did not doubt.

There was one, however, who doubted everything. His name was Grantaire, and he was a Sophomore. He was skeptical of everything; he challenged his knowledge and the beliefs of others. He took great care not to believe anything.

He was the conventional "troublemaker"; the one whom the faculty looked at pityingly, whispering how the poor boy would amount to nothing. He was clearly intelligent, yet rarely attended class. When he did attend, he was frequently and obviously hung over.

While all of the young men respected Enjolras, Grantaire worshipped him. To say that Enjolras did not care for Grantaire was an understatement, but Grantaire did not seem to mind. Grantaire went out of his way to walk behind Enjolras between classes. Enjolras dismissed him again and again, but Grantaire, with an unwavering and touching faith, always spoke highly of Enjolras to any who would listen.

What did these nine call themselves? They called themselves "the Spoken."

COSETTE

Cosette was a small girl for her age; she was sixteen and a Junior. Her mother had died when she had been very small, and she had been adopted by a foster family. However, this family had not nurtured her as they had promised; she had been horribly abused until she had been taken in by her current foster father.

She did not remember any of her life before he had come into it; that is to say, before the age of seven. There was simply an empty void. She did not know that her foster father was not her biological father; he wanted to protect her from the truth about her past. And of his.

Nevertheless, as she walked into a public school for the first time in her life, she had to wonder Why she had been kept home for those many years; educated at home, with only her father for company- studying hard in her academic subjects, playing the piano with delicate skill, and studying religion with a humble fascination. She had been taught well, however, and so shrugged it off as she set foot in the main atrium of the three-level school.

Never had she seen so many children- some bigger than she, some smaller; yet all seeming to know somebody, to not be alone. Even the Freshmen knew each other and their fellow students, for it was the first day of second semester, and only one transfer student had been taken.

Cosette.

Shaken, she took her schedule out of her new book bag, and began to navigate her way to the school's auditorium for the opening assembly.

EPONINE

From the third floor railing, Eponine studied the new arrival. Something was familiar about her, but she could not be sure of what. The girl had brown hair that flowed in neat curls, and was dressed well. She looked too young to be a Senior, and Eponine knew that she was not in the tenth or ninth grade; the grades that she and her brother, respectively, were in.

Gavroche followed her gaze. "What?"

"That girl. The one with the brown hair. The one that looks lost. She look familiar to you?"

Gavroche shrugged. "We're going to be late if you don't move it."

Eponine shrugged and followed her brother to the second floor, where a pair of double doors were open and students were struggling to get through them, into the auditorium. As they did, Eponine caught sight of a head of dark hair and followed it.

"Hello, Marius."

"Um. Oh. Hi, 'Ponine."

"What's new? I've not seen you around too much."

"Oh, you know, been busy," the Junior boy said, suddenly ducking away, having seen a gap between two people that he managed to squeeze into. Eponine shrugged, pulled a section of her auburn hair into her mouth, and continued into the auditorium.

So, what do you think? Should I continue, or just delete this? I know that the idea is sort of risky, but I think you can see where I'm going with this. If I've stayed close to the character's personalities and such, can you tell me, and if I've not, can you tell me where that is? I intend Gavroche to still be living with his family, because it's unrealistic to have a child randomly out on the street while attending high school, but let me know what you think. Thus far, am I meeting the challenge?


	2. 2

THE SPOKEN

There were nine people missing from the assembly that morning. The said nine people could have been found in the library, had the faculty thought to look for them.

Courfeyrac, the fastest typist, was seated at one of the computers designated for student use, a bag of pretzels situated by his left hand. Seven of the nine were clustered around the back of Courfeyrac's chair. Enjolras paced nearby, dictating a letter, pausing, correcting himself, and ever so often striding over to the computer to read what had been written thus far.

It was during one of these times, as Enjolras scanned the letter, that Grantaire leaned back and stretched his arms, knocking into Jehan, who scrambled out of the way. Grantaire yawned, but through the yawn, a few words were distinguishable. "Why do we bother? You can't move the government by writing a letter to the school board. You're not moving the world."

Enjolras looked down at Grantaire, throwing him a withering glare. "Not the world. Only our little corner of it. We must start somewhere, and starting small is a good way to begin."

"But why does it Matter that we have to say 'under God' every morning?"

Enjolras turned and resumed his pacing. "I am not offended by it. None of us are offended by those two words. However, the implications behind those words…" Enjolras paused. "This country was founded upon principles. That we are forced to say the words 'under God' goes against said principles. Something must be done."

"We're not Forced to- we don't even say those words"-

"It's a matter of principal, Grantaire. We might not say those words, but those words are part of the pledge."

"We are Supposed to say them," Feuilly amended. "But we do not always do what is expected of us, now, do we?"

Grantaire shrugged and leaned his elbows on his knees.

Courfeyrac dug his hand into the bag of pretzels, ate a few, and resumed his typing at Enjolras's command until Joly broke in. "You know, it's really unsanitary to eat and type at the same time. I read this article…"

He broke off as Courfeyrac reached into the bag, selected two more pretzels, ate them, licked his fingers, typed a few words, and licked his fingers again. Joly made a face but did not comment further, as Enjolras was again speaking at full speed.

MARIUS

Marius had found himself seated across the aisle from a girl with curly brown hair during the hour-long, Highly tedious assembly, though he'd not really turned to look at her properly, and so had not attempted to make conversation. Even so, he was rather relieved when she nudged him, showing him her schedule.

"Excuse me… Do you know where this room is? My first class, you know." she said.

Marius almost couldn't answer; he'd never heard such a beautiful voice in his entire life. The face was beautiful, not what he looked at it, and her demeanor and posture appealed to him in a way he'd never thought possible; the result of this was that his head felt as if it was spinning- as if he had been struck by a sudden light. "Uh, yes. Biology 10/11 with Greelson. Second floor, center hallway, fifth door on the right," he muttered as the assembly ended. His eyes met hers, and he could have sworn that he saw something flicker in those dark brown pools before they were shunted in opposite directions.

As he was exiting the auditorium, a brash voice jolted him from his revere. "Marius. What class do you have first?"

"Trig. You?" He said, his voice huskier than usual, hardly noticing Eponine standing beside him, and not even paying enough attention to be annoyed or bothered as he usually was by the girl.

"Bio."

He suddenly turned and grabbed her hand. "Bio? With Mr. Greelson?"

Eponine shrugged. "Yeah."

"You have to do something for me, Eponine." He pulled her into an empty aisle as to avoid the other students. "There's a girl in your class, I think she's new. Brown hair, kind of short, really pretty…"

"In my bio class." Eponine suddenly looked rather forbidding.

Marius seemed not to notice. "Yes, in your bio class. Find her for me, give me her name."

"Hmmmm. If I do this, what will you give me?"

"Anything!"

"Anything…" She sighed. "If that's what you want…" The bell rang, cutting her off, and they both sprinted towards the door and to their respective classes.

THE SPOKEN

"We are So late," Combeferre moaned as he glanced at the clock; it had been five minutes since the bell had gone off.

"All for a good cause," Enjolras said absently, reading the printed letter.

"Do you think it's ready?" Asked Courfeyrac, looking at the screen that still held the letter.

"No… Courfeyrac, save that to disk. Let's use tonight's meeting to finish this off, and it can be sent tomorrow."

"Um. There's not a computer at the café…" Lesgle said hesitantly.

Enjolras waved an elegant hand dismissively. "That is inconsequential. All we need do is make corrections by hand; I will take the liberty of rewriting the complete letter afterwards."

Combeferre rose and started for the library doors. "Very well; but if I'm any later than this, it'll count as an absence, and if I get another absence, that will be detention, and I'll not be able to come at all tonight."

Grantaire sighed. "Detentions never bother me… I just skip them." Bahorel laughed, but seemed to be the only one who found Grantaire's antics to be even slightly amusing.

Upon saving the letter, Courfeyrac ejected the disk and handed to Enjolras, who left the library without a word, the other seven following in his wake.


	3. 3

D. JAVERT

Dominique Javert was the queen of the school in the faculty's eyes; she was a senior and was generally regarded as being 'perfect,' or as perfect as they come. Her father, Philippe, was the District Attorney for their area. He was more involved with his work than most DA's are; he helped all departments- he assisted in investigations and worked on profiles, among other things. He seemed to live for one thing, his work. Thus, their area had grown to respect the man, and by extension, his daughter, though some wondered when he had had the time to raise her; his wife was long dead.

Of course, Dominique was scorned as all "goodie-goodies" are to be scorned in their schooldays, but she did not let it bother her; she took on extra tasks such as that of hall monitor and office assistant, and filled her time well.

Her first two hours were simply marked 'office' as they had been in first semester, and in first semester, she had served as a hall monitor during first hour. She decided, as shown from experience, that she would simply be asked to complete the same tasks as she had been asked in the previous semester. Thus, as she walked through the halls, she came across an unpleasant aroma emanating from one of the boys' bathrooms on the second floor. With her authority ever-present in her mind, she pushed the door open.

"Montparnasse!"

There was a choking sound from the second stall down, and the sound of something being dropped into a toilet, followed by a slight sizzling sound, not unlike that of a fire being extinguished, and then the sound of the toilet flushing. The stall slid open.

"I know what you were doing," Dominique said disapprovingly.

"You think you know everything. You've always thought you know everything. Since we were in third grade, you did. You don't know Nothing."

Dominique raised an eyebrow. "Why, thank you. Do you mean your first go round in third or your second?" There was a slight pause. "I'm going to have to write you up, you know," she said conversationally.

"You don't have the proof."

"Oh, but I do," she said, flicking a piece of ash off of his shirt, smirking. "You're quite messy, you know. Plenty more where that came from."

Every so often, Montparnasse Did know that he was beaten. It didn't mean, however, that he couldn't talk his way out of it later.

EPONINE

Greelson was an older man; he was well past the traditional age for retirement, and so handing out and issuing textbooks was quite a dilemma for him. Much as some of the students detested receiving their new textbooks (for textbooks signify homework), they couldn't help but notice that the lapse in time gave them the perfect opportunity to socialize.

Eponine took the opportunity to gaze about the room, looking for a face that she did not recognize. "Brown hair. Curly," she muttered to herself. Nobody new that she saw, except…

Yes. It was the girl, the one she'd noticed that morning. Three rows behind her, and two seats to the left. Looking around the classroom confirmed her suspicions. Yes. This was the girl that Marius had been asking about; Eponine was Sure of it.

After class, Eponine dropped her books in the aisle just as the girl was walking past. As Eponine expected, the girl stopped to help her pick her books up.

"Hey, thanks."

"It's nothing," the girl with the curly brown hair said, placing Eponine's tattered pencil bag on top of the tottering pile of books and binders. As she did, Eponine snuck a look at the name on the girl's notebook.

"Well. I'll see you around, then." Eponine headed for the door quickly. Cosette. Cosette, the name rang a bell… The last name, Fauchelevent, meant nothing to her, but Cosette… She shrugged and began to weave her way through the crowded hallway to her next class.

MARIUS

It was lunch hour, and Marius was sitting alone as he usually did; he didn't prefer people watching him eat, and eating alone was better than eating with Eponine, Azelma, Gavroche, and Montparnasse, as he'd made the mistake to do once.

However, he wasn't at all displeased to see Eponine enter the range of his vision, make a beeline for him, and sit in the seat next to his.

Before he could get a word out, Eponine blurted her information out quickly, with a slight bitter tinge in her tone that passed over Marius's head unnoticed. "Her name's Cosette. Cosette Fauchelevent. I wrote it down, see?" She took a piece of paper from her pocket and handed it to Marius.

He studied the paper with an odd look on his face. Then he lifted his eyes to Eponine's. "I really appreciate it, 'Ponine." He bit his lip. "Listen, Eponine, I need her information- it'll be in the office…"

"Why don't you just ask her?"

"I don't… I don't know. Can you look this up for me?"

"Why can't you do it yourself?"

Marius gave an exasperated sigh. "You're good at this, 'Ponine. I'd be caught in a second. Please, if you do this…"

"You promised me something, you know."

Marius shrugged. "What would you like?"

Eponine didn't answer. She simply rose, taking the piece of paper from Marius's slack grip. "I'll get it for you." She then left the cafeteria, not looking back.

Marius watched with a raised eyebrow. "Weird kid. But useful." With that, he went back to eating, still scanning the crowded room for a head of curly brown hair, but not finding one. It didn't bother him, however; it was all too possible that Cosette Fauchelevent had a different lunch shift. Eponine would come through. She always did.

After finishing eating, he went to the library with the intention of daydreaming in silence for a while; doing so always made him feel more relaxed and ready to face his afternoon classes.

LESGLE

"Pontmercy! Pontmercy!" The sophomore/junior Civics and Government teacher, Alice Hammernith, was infamous among the students; if you were tardy, it was an automatic detention. The fool, Marius Pontmercy! Lesgle had seen him around; he always looked rather starry-eyed, and had what seemed to have an Enjolras-Grantaire-esque relationship with a tenth grader named Eponine something-or-the-other.

"Pontmercy!"

Lesgle ducked behind his book and coughed out "Present!"

Hammernith looked at him; his 'disguise' had failed. "Hmm. You're Pontmercy now, are you? Well, Marius, if you are indeed Marius Pontmercy, then you are not Lesgle. So Lesgle is absent. I'll send his detention slip right out," she hissed, turning to her computer to make a record of the disciplinary action.

Bahorel and Grantaire, who had this class with Lesgle leaned in from either side of him and whispered, respectively,

"Tough luck, man."

"Bitch!"

Hammernith spun about. "And that will be a detention for Mr. Grantaire as well."

Bahorel snickered. "Enjolras will have both your heads, you know."

Grantaire arched a dark eyebrow. "And what's so different about that? I doubt that I'll be too sorely missed…"


	4. 4

D. JAVERT

There he was! He was the one that she suspected of… Well. She wasn't exactly sure _what_ she suspected him of, but she'd seen the nine of them around. And He- the tall blond one, a year younger than she- He seemed to be the 'leader'.

So what was he doing out of class? It was last hour; he should have been in class, not in the library scribbling furiously on a sheet of paper as though he was pouring his very life force into it.

She approached him. Something about him intimidated her, and so she was slightly more hesitant than she generally was. Oh, if she could have mastered what her father said about having a heart of stone! But something was trembling inside her.

"Ahem. Excuse me."

The blond boy blinked as if pulling himself from a different world. He set his pen down slowly, but when it clicked against the wood of the table the sound seemed to snap him completely from his revere of extreme concentration. Swiftly, he flipped the page on which he had been writing so desperately over. Dominique saw only two words as she strained to see what he had written: "governmental corruption." How odd.

"You needed something?" The blond boy prompted her, courteously but with a slight tone of irritation that did not go unnoticed.

"Um. Yes. I was wondering…" What was _happening_ to her?

The boy raised an eyebrow. "Yes?" His face was relaxed but one might have detected a slight trace of cool amusement at Dominique's flustered state in his dark blue eyes.

"What class…?"

The boy reached into his book bag and retrieved a neatly folded schedule. Handing it to her, he raised an eyebrow. "This should answer all of your questions."

She unfolded it. Study hour. Oh.

She handed it back. "And what are you studying, then?"

He glared upwards at her, and it was all that Dominique could do to suppress a shudder, even though she was standing and he was seated, giving her a good foot and a half on him.

"That is none of your concern. I will bid you good day, now." He nodded and picked up his pen, evidently waiting for her to leave before turning his paper back over.

She wasn't moving. He turned the pen over in his slender fingers and glanced upwards again. "What are you doing?" He asked brashly.

She drew herself to her full height. "I am an officer of this school."

"Yes. And, unless I'm greatly mistaken, your duties as such are filled in your first two hours."

"It is, nonetheless, still my duty to ascertain…"

He cut across her coldly, like a steel knife slicing into warm butter. "You have ascertained, Javert, that I am well within my rights. If, in fact, you are still on school official duty, I suggest that you commence with your task. Go catch other miscreants. However, I am sure that you have a class this hour- do you not?"

She stepped back, smiling as coldly as she could manage under the circumstances. "It's an excused tardy." She walked quickly out of the library and threw the double doors open. After checking that nobody was there to bear witness, she slumped down against the wall opposite the library doors, breathing hard. He was terrifying, he honestly was.

And he was definitely hiding something- all nine of them were. As an upstanding citizen, what more could she do but attempt to find what it was?

ENJOLRAS

He flipped the paper over, wondering exactly how much Javert had seen. Combeferre emerged from behind a bookshelf, a large tome clutched firmly in both hands.

"Her head could fit through a mail slot, honestly."

Enjolras sighed. "I have a feeling that we might have some trouble from her. She is narrow-minded, yes; but she is in a position of power within these walls. We must be careful of what we plan here."

"This doesn't concern the school, in all honestly. Everything on this page"- here, he gestured to the piece of paper covered in Enjolras's writing- "concerns outside forces. Not the school."

"Precisely. And when we leave the school, we are in the outside world."

"So?"

"Then, we must deal with her father."

Combeferre sighed. "Ah. Daddy dearest." He paused. "I wouldn't worry about it, Enjolras."

"I am not worried. I am simply weighing every consequence that might occur as a result of our actions. One must be vigilant in this sort of thing." He turned his attention back to the paper, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to regain his concentration.

What concentration he regained, however, was broken by Combeferre not a minute later. "Still. I wouldn't worry. Do you want to know why?"

"Enlighten me."

"Because she's terrified of you."

Somehow, Enjolras was not surprised by this assessment.

EPONINE

This sort of thing had always been easy for her. Perhaps it was genetic, she mused, waiting for the secretary to waddle into the bathroom. If the idiot would not drink so many milkshakes, maybe it wouldn't be so easy to put laxatives into her system! Her fault, really.

When Eponine heard the lock on the bathroom click, she rose stealthily from her hiding place and slipped behind the desk. There was the book with all of the students' names and information perched precariously on the left corner; this is what she gravitated towards.

She flipped to the "F" section, and found Cosette with little difficulty. On a small slip of paper, she copied out the address listed. No email address or phone number. How odd.

The sink in the bathroom was running now; Eponine knew that she had little time. She reached for the box of office passes and slipped one out, ducking out of the office as the door to the bathroom opened.

Seated in an alcove in the hallway, Eponine forged the secretary's signature with practiced ease. After all, one got used to this sort of thing. Wondering vaguely in the back of her mind what she had missed, Eponine walked idly to her Geometry class. She could take her time; after all, she had been "assisting in bathroom maintenance."

What a joke.

It was, in fact, almost enough of a joke to allow her to forget what Marius would do with the information she retrieved for him.

D. JAVERT

A good day's work done. Yes. She had taught that little freshman never to run in the hall again! Yes- he would be serving a detention with Hammernith. Didn't they all know that such protestations as "I'm going to miss my bus! My four-year-old brother will be home alone for hours!" were falling on deaf ears when directed to Dominique Javert?

Queen of the school.

As for those nine- oh, they'd better watch their backs! If she caught them at something- at anything- they would feel the wrath of her authority! Oh, and they knew it already! She'd put that tall blond leader back in his place in the library! She _knew_ she'd won that one! Regardless of interpretation. It had been a confrontation. And she had won- she _knew_ it.

They were up to something and she would find out what.

A good day's work done.

MARIUS

Eponine had done it. Here he was, holding Cosette Fauchelevent's home address in his hand. Why was he not going to her? Was he simply nervous?

He shifted his weight agitatedly from foot to foot. It was late afternoon, and he was standing outside a bookstore close to Cosette's home, trying to find a way to visit her and not appear to be a perverted psycho, as Azelma had once called Montparnasse within Marius's presence.

It was in the course of these deliberations that the door to the bookstore swung open, almost hitting him in the back, and two young men emerged.

They passed by him, not paying him any heed, or so it seemed, until one of the young men turned. "Marius Pontmercy?"

Marius turned his head curiously. "Yes?"

"From LMHS?"

"That would be me." There was a slight pause. Then- "Not to sound rude or anything, but who are you?"

The young man laughed. "You were absent from Hammernith's class today."

Marius shrugged. "So?"

"So I tried to get you out of detention by answering for you during roll call."

The other boy spoke from behind him. "He basically ended up taking your detention for you."

Marius swore. "You should have just let her write me up…"

"Ah, but I couldn't just do that." He extended a hand. "I'm Lesgle, by the way, and I'm pleased to make your acquaintance."

As Marius shook his hand, he looked curiously at Lesgle's accompanist.

"Courfeyrac," Lesgle said with an offhanded gesture.

"It's nice to meet you," Marius said somewhat distractedly before turning his full attention back to Lesgle, dropping his hand. "I appreciate what you did, then. Is there anything that I can do to repay you?"

Lesgle turned to Courfeyrac and exchanged a wink. Marius raised a curious eyebrow but said nothing.

"Yes. As a matter of fact, detention with Hammernith makes one both tired and thirsty. So tonight, you can meet me at the café on the strip close to the school- you know the one- and buy me a coffee. At seven."

Marius shrugged, faintly bewildered. "I'll be there."

"We look forward to it," Lesgle said before walking away with Courfeyrac. Both were talking in low voices, but a few words were still carried to Marius's ears:

"Enjolras… Not too mad, I hope?"

"He was a bit… but changing it wasn't too much trouble…"

"I must imagine… Ripped into you a bit…"

"Just a little… 'Disappointed in you'… Only two hours later anyways…"

"Didn't lose… Temper?"

"Of course not… Never does…"

Marius watched the retreating backs. When he could no longer hear their conversation, he shrugged and decided that if he were to meet them at seven, he would not have the time to find Cosette.

There would always be another day.


	5. 5

MARIUS

Marius entered the café at ten past seven. Lesgle and Courfeyrac were waiting for him.

"Ah! Good- he's here."

Marius reached into his pocket and brought out his wallet. "Hey. So. What would you like?"

Courfeyrac clicked his tongue. "Actually." He grabbed Marius's arm gently. "Let's go back here." He began to steer Marius towards the table to the far back of the café, but at the last second turned right. "It is my job to see you into the new world," he said, smirking.

They stopped in front of a door. A nondescript door. That was it.

Lesgle pushed it open and the three entered the room.

ENJOLRAS

It was a bit past nine, and all of the Spoken were leaving the café. Enjolras, however, pulled Courfeyrac and Lesgle aside.

"Why did you bring him here? He will be useless. He has no political opinions to speak of- it's obvious that he simply recites what he has been taught…"

"He's a warm body," Lesgle snapped. "We need everybody that we can get."

Enjolras corrected him. "We need every _trustworthy_ body that we can get. We do not know anything about Marius, aside from the fact that he's absentminded and the fact that he misses classes. And those two facts are hardly ringing endorsements."

"Look. He owes me. And he's too… He's too much of a dreamer to concoct a vicious scheme. I know his type."

Courfeyrac sighed. "May I propose a compromise? I happen to agree with Lesgle in that he may be a valuable addition to The Spoken, but I also agree with Enjolras in that constant vigilance is the only way through which we can operate. Thus, I propose that we include Marius in some- only some- of the things that we do. In this way, we can evaluate him accurately while completing the… heavier… work on our own."

"Essentially, you'd like to involve him in the petitioning of the school board." Enjolras frowned. "I'll permit it. Though I must ask why, in this sudden manner, the two of you became so interested in, shall we say, initiating Pontmercy to our cause."

Lesgle shrugged. "Personality click. I don't know. He seems trustworthy to me, and something told me that…" he shrugged again.

"Something told you," Enjolras said, a disdainful smirk evident in his eyes. "Then I will, for the time being, trust your judgment. You have yet to _seriously _disappoint me," he finished, before glancing at Lesgle again unsmilingly. "But I trust that you will attempt to go a full month or so without another detention?"

Lesgle squirmed, but Courfeyrac nodded comfortably.

"Good, then."

COSETTE

She stood before the mirror in her ornate dressing gown, brushing her hair. Thinking about him. She hadn't seen him in lunch period, and she hadn't had any classes with him. She did not even know his name. Yet she felt that something was _rising_ inside her. There was a fluttering sensation in her stomach that had been there all day, and something told her that the nerves of attending school for the first time had little to do with the feeling.

There came a knock on her bedroom door, and she put the brush down before crossing the room and turning the knob.

"Hey, Papa."

"Hello, Cosette."

She stood back courteously. "Would you like to come in?"

He smiled. "I would; thank you."

The bedroom was large- among other things, it contained a queen-sized bed with fluffy white linins and large, comfortable pillows. There was a small alcove opposite the bed, adjacent to a large desk. In this alcove there was a small wicker table and two matching chairs. It was here that Cosette navigated with her father.

"How was your day, papa?"

"I couldn't stop thinking about you braving public school for the first time. Are you sure that it was okay? I can't help but think that maybe we should have waited until the beginning of next year…"

Cosette smiled warmly and took his hands over the table. Something told her not to inform her father of the young man that she had met, but it didn't stop her from giving an otherwise perfectly detailed account of the day.

He knew that something was amiss, but did not press the matter. After all, he trusted Cosette implicitly, and knew that her judgment would surpass that of many that had achieved twice her age.

Half an hour later, he rose, kissed her on the forehead, and said goodnight. As he left, he could have sworn that he heard Cosette singing- a lovely, lilting tune full of childish wistfulness and… Something else…

JEHAN

Aside from The Spoken, Jean Prouvaire had one rather close friend- a friend that he shared with Grantaire in particular. The rest of The Spoken knew this friend and rather liked him, but Jehan was the only one of them that had classes with him.

After leaving the café, Jehan ventured over to the school to meet this friend.

"Hello, Gavroche."

"Oh. Hello." Gavroche motioned from the bench on which he sat towards the front doors of the school. "Well? Shall we?"

"Sure." They slipped inside the school. "So what's new?" Jehan asked as they walked towards the library.

"Oh. Not too much. Let's see. I have three classes with Azelma this semester, so that's bound to be interesting. Eponine seems more preoccupied than usual, and my parents are as honorable as they always are. That, and Dominique Javert seems determined to nail me with something- anything- within the first week of school. What's new with you?"

Jehan shrugged. "Actually, there's a reason I asked you to meet me tonight."

"Yeah? Aside from the pleasure of my glowing company?" Gavroche asked snarkily.

"Yes. I need to talk to you about Javert."

"Oh? You _interested_?"

"No. It's just that, well, Enjolras brought her to my attention and told me that you'd be a good person to talk to."

"Is _he_ interested?"

"No. Shut up. Apparently, they- Javert and Enjolras, I mean- had some sort of showdown in the library today, and she caught sight of one of his drafts for a petition or something. He says that he has no clue about how much she saw, but if she gets on our case or something, well, you can see why that would be troublesome."

Gavroche shrugged his small shoulders. "I can't, actually, see why it would be a problem. 'Kay, so she saw a speech or whatever it was. We're entitled to _some_ things, after all. United States of America."

"_Corrupted_ United States of America. Enjolras…"

"What?"

"Enjolras says that they're not responding. The Government, I mean. The Victors. I mean, come on! He's spoken to a few non-party senators face to face, you know, the old Democrats and Republicans and Independents- whatever, and petitions, letters, complaints, whatever, have been coming in, all over the place. The non-Victors have less and less power every second. The century is only half over, but we have _the most_ oppressive Supreme Court that we've had. The sane voices in Congress are being silenced, somehow, and they're terrified about this. No one really knows. All we know is that gradually, that idiot in the White House is gaining more and more power. I never knew that there were so many loopholes in our legal system! But do you realize, he's been in there for over _twenty years_! Thirty years ago, we would have called it impossible. But now, with how they're screwing with the Constitution…"

Gavroche halted Jehan's rant. "What, exactly, are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying that… Enjolras said something last week that had a very profound effect on a good number of us. Something along the lines of, well, they can't ignore us much longer. But if they do, we may be forced into something radical."

Gavroche grinned. "And you want me to keep little miss perfect-Javert off your backs so that her _daddy_ doesn't catch wind of anything and pass it upwards in the government, right?"

"Um, yeah. That's the basic gist of it."

Gavroche snapped his fingers. "Consider it done; she's so much fun to screw with." He paused. "Though, Jean, I must ask. How far are you willing to follow Enjolras?"

Jehan shrugged. "To the end of all things, I guess, so long as his beliefs are what they are. We follow the truth of his convictions; we share those convictions. We don't follow _him._"

"If you're sure. Just promise me one thing."

"What's that?"

"If there's any fighting, let me help. Oh, but I _love_ chaos."

Jehan gave Gavroche a troubled look. "Don't kid about stuff like that."

"Why? Do you think that it'll actually happen? _Revolution?_" He snorted. "It's impossible."

"No! It's not, and that's what's bothering me. Look at the economy. Since the turn of the century, we've been going downhill. That, plus the suppression of any rights we have… We're living under a dictatorship. Don't deny it."

"Are you predicting a revolution?" Gavroche asked simply.

"We're not predicting anything," said a voice lower than Jehan's. The two freshmen spun to see Enjolras, leaning against the door of the library entrance. "However. Others are, and it's quite possible that, if our situation continues to progress in the way that it has, we may be forced into revolution." He fell silent for a few moments. "But it is too soon to contemplate such things; if we continue to fight through the courts in a civil way, gradually attacking every injustice, we may still have a chance. The Constitution still holds." He beckoned them closer to whisper. "I wouldn't be surprised if we are being recorded as we speak; that's why I came after you." He made a motion with his hand, and they slid out the back door of the library that led into the auditorium, passing the theatre's set crew as they did and drawing a few suspicious glances. As soon as they reached the courtyard, Enjolras turned towards the two younger students, their breath forming mist in the winter air. "Did you discuss Javert?"

Gavroche nodded. "Don't worry about her. I can keep her busier than anything." He gave a mocking salute. "The girl's insane; stuff like that's never too hard when it's with a crazy person."

ENJOLRAS

He finished typing the letter to the school board, the corrections included. With a frown, he looked at the bottom of the document before adding a footnote.

_"If there is any fixed star in our constitutional constellation, it is that no official, high or petty, can prescribe what shall be orthodox in politics, nationalism, religion, or other matters of opinion or force citizens to confess by word or act their faith therein."_

_-- Justice Robert Jackson_

His eyes misted for a moment before he printed the document and turned to his long-overdue studies. However, twenty minutes into his homework, he found his attention wandering. He rose from his desk and pulled the petition from the printing tray, as to read the footnote again. Upon finishing, he ran his fingers across the print and sighed.

"There is our flag now."


	6. 6

AN: First off, I would like to thank Toff- who is wonderful- for betaing these chapters for me... Now. When I renovated the first four chapters, some mistakes that I had corrected on another computer crept Right back in, and they were sitting there before a friend- KazeNyv, thank you- corrected me. feels ashamed But... Yeah. Yes, Dominique's name was originally Emille, and yes, that is a boy's name. However, parts of Dominique are based off of my female cousin, Emille- that is pronounced Emily. Her parents claim they were trying to be exotic. We all know better; Uncle Raymond just didn't remember how to spell it.

Moving on. My name is Heather-Fantine, and I am a review-whore. Please feed my starving child. Thank you.

MARIUS

A plan had formulated in Marius's overwrought mind the night before. It had been a pleasure to think of Cosette after that odd meeting. He just wanted to forget The Spoken for the time being and concentrate on something pleasant. Like Cosette.

Thus, he had walked to her subdivision early in the morning and was waiting to ride to school on her zone's bus.

He saw the bus trundling down the street and then looked to the large house at the end of the street… And there she was! She was emerging from the front door! Abandoning all pretences, Marius jogged across the lawns of three houses to reach her.

Oh! But now he needed an excuse. She was watching him with an odd look on her face. At least she looked somewhat happy to see him. He stepped onto the curb and crossed the lawn to greet her.

"Hi."

"Hi. Cosette, right?"

"Yes… How did you know?"

Marius shrugged. "I think a friend of mine has a class with you."

"Oh." This was so awkward! "And you are…"

"Oh. I'm Marius. Marius Pontmercy."

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Marius." They stood in silence for a while. Cosette, still standing, crossed her right foot behind her left ankle and studied the ground. "Um… Did you need something?"

Marius shrugged. "I, um, I think I saw you drop this yesterday…" He slung his book bag off of his shoulder and pulled a book from inside. "Is this yours?"

Cosette raised an eyebrow. "No, I don't think so…" She took the book from him, her hands lightly brushing his. She flipped the front cover open. "But it has your name in it."

"What?" _Stupid, stupid, stupid!_ He took the book from her. Sure enough, in his own hand the inside cover displayed his name. "Oh. I guess I…"

There was a sinister creak from behind them, followed with the sound of a vehicle pulling away.

They whirled just in time to see the school bus exiting the neighborhood.

"I think we just missed the bus."

"I couldn't agree more. How far is it to walk to the school?" Cosette asked, a smile evident about her eyes.

"If we go quickly, it should take about fifteen minutes. It's not too bad."

Cosette shrugged. "I'm afraid that I don't know the way by myself, though. Would you mind escorting me?"

Marius smiled. Things seemed to be looking up. "I would be honored to escort you."

EPONINE

Eponine usually walked to school alone or was picked up by Montparnasse, but today was different; Azelma, one day into the semester, was already behind in her Algebra class. Eponine had taken Algebra the previous year, and though she had barely passed with a D, it didn't change the fact that she had passed.

"Okay, so you add the y's and the x's together, see?"

"You mean you get 7xy?"

"No, you can't add an x with a y."

"Why not? You just said…"

"You just can't. It's like adding apples and oranges."

Azelma shrugged. "I can add apples and oranges if I want."

"No, you can't."

"Yes, I can. So there."

"Well, if you can add apples and oranges, I can take your jacket and stuff it down your throat, so you'd better shut up."

"Fine. So you can't add apples and oranges."

"Right. So you add all the x's with all the x's, and all the y's with all the y's, and…" She trailed off, looking across the street. There, approaching the school, was Marius! And he had somebody with him… She narrowed her eyes. It was _her_. Cosette Fauchelevent.

"Go on, 'Ponine! I still don't understand."

Eponine didn't look at her sister to answer. "Gavroche took Algebra last semester. I think he's probably already at school; you'd find him in the library with those guys, I bet. He could help you."

"But 'Ponine!"

Eponine stood stock-still, unresponsive, watching Marius until he and Cosette disappeared into the school, and still stood reflectively, like a statue, long after they disappeared. Azelma watched her sister for a few minutes, and then lost her patience, following the crowd into the building.

The second bell was ringing before Eponine managed to pull herself from her revere and enter the school.

ENJOLRAS

"Be glad we all have lunch together, Enjolras. What _is_ this about?" Courfeyrac had to jog to keep up with Enjolras' furious stride. Enjolras shoved a door to the courtyard open and all of The Spoken, minus Marius, of course, filed out. Enjolras exchanged a grave glance with Combeferre.

Joly trembled, his breath rising in mists about him. "We'll catch our deaths of cold out here…" Seeing the look exchanged between Enjolras and Combeferre, however, he fell silent.

"What is it, Enjolras?"

"Something terrible has happened," Enjolras said simply.

"What?"

"It appears that there was a massacre late last night."

Combeferre blanched visibly. "Christ… What happened? When did you find out?"

Enjolras gave a shuddering sigh. "As you know, in the political scene, there were eleven people who were not of the 'neo-Nazi' preference; they did all that they could to uphold the Constitution against the Victors…"

"Why are you speaking in the past tense?" Combeferre asked, a quaver in his voice.

Enjolras lowered his head, uncharacteristically submissive and resigned. "They were all found dead this morning. I overheard a conversation in the teacher's lounge and then looked online for myself. There was no mention of it in the papers," he said with a shrug. "They're trying to keep it quiet, but there was a leak."

"A reliable leak?" Grantaire asked, an odd look upon his face.

"That, I'm not sure of. I will have to do some research into the matter. But as of now, this gravity appears to be true."

Jehan bit his lip. "If it _is_ true, what are we going to do? Where does that put us?"

Enjolras studied the ground for close to a minute before replying slowly. "I do not know." There was something in his voice, however, that indicated that a plan was forming in his mind.

MARIUS

The backroom of the café had a somber air that afternoon; it was a little past six, and The Spoken were circled around one large rectangular table that had been constructed from five of the two-person tables that could be found.

Enjolras sat at the head of the table, not speaking. He and Marius alone had not spoken since they had entered the room, slightly over an hour ago. That Enjolras was not speaking, Marius mused, was probably a large cause of the solemn atmosphere.

Courfeyrac, across the table from Combeferre, was currently speaking, looking at a printout critically.

"I snagged this before it was removed; somehow it slipped through the fingers of whoever censors this stuff. It's the homepage for the ACLU. If you go there now, you'll get an error code."

"Why? They've had that web address since Al Gore invented the Internet."

"Shut up, Bahorel. It happened today, at, maybe three-thirty in the afternoon. It says here that the ACLU's been forcibly disbanded for treasonous activities…"

"WHAT?!?"

"I know. They filed a lawsuit against the government this morning, and immediate action was taken…"

"They can't do that!"

"Oh, they very well can." This was the first time that Enjolras had spoken. "This confirms the massacre. That such a small minority alone stood against the Victors has been a problem for the last thirty years at least; yet, that minority has always exercised _some_ control. Now, however, the majority is unanimous and may run unchecked." He sighed. "This massacre is the turning of the tide; it is more abrupt than any of us expected, I believe. _Something must be done_."

"What? What _can_ we do?"

"We still have the Constitution; the Victors are still attempting to appear to all as they seemed upon coming to power. They cannot overthrow our country's founding yet, at least, not in the public eye. Legalities still apply. We may hope, for now, that this will be enough. However…"

Combeferre turned to look him in the eye. "That is a fool's hope."

"We don't know that yet; trial and error is, sometimes, the best way to go…" Jehan said, his eyebrows furrowed.

The conversation had pushed one person beyond endurance. Marius pushed his chair out to open his book bag. He opened one of his textbooks to the last page, where there was a world map. He pointed to a spot.

"The colonies in the Middle East… They have made America truly great."

There was a chilling breath. Silence reigned. Until-

Enjolras, not looking at anything in particular save for open space, spoke. "America does not need the Middle East to be great; America is great because she is America."

Marius stood swiftly; his chair was knocked to the ground with a resounding crash as the result. "Well, then! God forbid I should lessen America! But siding with the Government is not lessening her; it adds to her immense worldly power. But then, what do I know?

"So let's talk. I'm new among you, and, quite frankly, you astound me. Who _are _you to challenge the Supreme Power that the Government holds? Let's say what we like about the Government. I thought that you were typical high school students. But where do you put your trust? If you do not look up to the Government, who _do_ you revere? Are you so arrogant that you think yourselves to be more intelligent than the greatest world power to the day?

"What more do you need? America is, today, the most powerful that any nation has been in the history of time! Come _on!_ We have conquered all enemies; we have smote our foes. We have the brightest future of any generation yet! We have the resources of the world at our fingertips. Yes, I will admit, we are in some economic trouble, but that can be overlooked; it will resolve itself; I know this, we all know it; the Government tells us so, and the Government does not lie to its children.

"We have the power to conquer the world twice, to provide the best life for every resident. What more could we want?"

Combeferre gave a sad smile. "To be free."

These words hit Marius like ice; he sank into a nearby chair, his eyes closed. He heard the door open, and then close; when he raised his head, all of The Spoken had gone save for Enjolras, who was contemplating Marius carefully. Marius raised his head and opened his mouth to speak.

"You said that America is great. But without the Government…"

Enjolras cut him off. "Sometimes, Citizen, to understand the greatness of a thing, one must look to its origins." With that, he slung his bag over his shoulder and left the room.


	7. 7

AN: First off, a round of applause to Toff for betaing! Next, many thanks to Erin number one, KazeNyv for allowing me to bounce ideas off of her, and for giving me plenty. And for putting up with my procrastination. Thanks also for driving me tonight. Um, though I don't think we can really start anything until next semester anyways because I'm selfish and want to be there for all the action. And, well, I want to handle it myself. Because I have a big ego. Deal. You know I love you. Hmm. This chapter is dedicated to Erin number two, LesMisLoony because her secret lover (hehe. She doesn't know it yet) has more of an appearance in this chappy. Just for you.

Tired of my ranting? Well, here we go.

LESGLE

Second period, Mr. Orioril's junior/senior Calculus, was never a joy for Lesgle, or any of The Spoken, for that matter. However, as Enjolras, Combeferre, Joly, and Courfeyrac were also stuck in hell during this hour, it was always a good time to catch up on any news.

Class was trundling along as usual, Lesgle desperately hating every second of it and wishing for a way out. Nine fifty-four… Only six more minutes… He turned surreptitiously to glance at Joly, attempting to catch his eye. To no avail.

Lesgle turned back to glance at Orioril. He had his back turned to the class and was scratching out notes at a furious pace, a marker in his hand squeaking at an impossible volume. Lesgle turned again to the desk one row over and three desks behind him where Joly was now examining a spot of ink on the back of his hand with an intensely concerned expression.

Rolling his eyes, Lesgle snapped his fingers in Joly's direction. "Psst!" No result. He looked back at Orioril and then leaned further into the aisle. "Psst!"

Enjolras looked up from his notebook, an exasperated look on his face. Lesgle caught this look and stuck out his tongue in reply. Enjolras shrugged and turned back to his work, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "I'm not letting you copy my notes, this time. _Or_ Combeferre's…"

Lesgle hooked his ankle around a leg of the desk and leaned out even further, a pencil in his outstretched hand. "Pssssssssssst!" He threw the pencil at Joly and fell into the aisle in surprise as the PA system came to life, the desk crashing down on top of him.

"Attention, all students! In compliance with an exciting new Governmental act…" Courfeyrac scurried into the aisle with Joly and lifted the desk from a stunned Lesgle. The class snickered audibly and Orioril motioned for silence. Unnoticed, Enjolras and Combeferre exchanged a worried look. "…We ask that at ten o'clock, all students bow their heads in silence for a five minute prayer…" There was another crash as Enjolras' desk toppled, its occupant having stood suddenly and violently. "…Beginning in five minutes' time. A special belltone will sound to alert students to the beginning and ending of our sessions."

Orioril glanced at Enjolras, alarmed, and then at Lesgle, his expression bordering on amusement. "Please take your seats, gentlemen."

Lesgle was now occupied with restoring his desk to an upright position, and did not obey immediately. Enjolras, however, made no motion to comply. "I have a few questions to ask of you first, sir."

Orioril sat behind his desk, Calculus forgotten. "By all means." He motioned with his left hand for Enjolras to begin.

"How will this prayer be lead?"

Orioril reached into a desk drawer and retrieved a badly-Xeroxed sheet of paper. He gestured for Enjolras to approach his desk. Combeferre stood and began to collect his books; Courfeyrac caught his eye and began to do the same. Joly and Lesgle, identical grave looks upon their faces, commenced in following suit. Enjolras stepped deftly around his desk and strode up the aisle, taking the paper and scanning it swiftly.

"This is a prayer to the Judeo-Christian deity."

"That is correct."

"A prayer endorsed by- as well as for- our Government."

"For our Government, among other things. But yes, it is endorsed by The Victors; that is correct."

"This will be a daily occurrence? Or did I misunderstand the announcement?"

Orioril nodded. "It will be routine; yes, everyday at ten o'clock."

"This is mandatory for all students?"

"It is mandatory that all students bow their heads and observe the silence. What you do in your mind is, of course, your prerogative." Orioril gave Enjolras an almost sympathetic look. "Is that all?"

"Yes. Thank you." Enjolras strode back to his desk, righted it, and placed his books in his book bag. "I'm walking out."

The five exited the classroom, Courfeyrac taking up the rear. As the last to exit, he grasped the doorknob, sticking his head back into the room. "Good riddance!" The door slammed with a resounding bang as the bell rang, signifying the beginning of the prayer.

D. JAVERT

Five people- students- walking down the front walkway away from the school? They were walking purposefully, in a single-file line. And they were lead, it seemed, by Him. The blond one. She couldn't tell from this distance, but his stride was particularly distinctive... Leaving during the prayer? To do so was not only against the rules; it was sacrilegious.

She ran quickly through the empty atrium towards the doors. Almost there-

"Ouch!" She slipped, sliding away from a puddle that most certainly hadn't been there ten minutes ago! And the puddle was much too big to be an accident. And it was still spreading.

Dominique got to her feet and determined that she had not gotten wet. She then crossed to the door and pushed it open.

The five boys were nowhere in sight.

Dominique bit her bottom lip, her brow creased. She turned away from the door, the cool of the school's darkness hitting her skin sharply after the warmth of the sunshine streaming in through the doors.

She began to walk towards the first floor maintenance closet to retrieve a mop but froze in her tracks at a shrill and highly unwelcome sound.

A giggle.

Somebody was laughing. At. Her.

She whirled sharply, catching sight of a head of dark blond hair ducking behind an open door. She recognized that head!

"Gavroche. Come out. _Now_." She was met with another snort of derisive laughter and the sound of racing footsteps.

_Oh no, he doesn't._

She raced after him, turning into the computer wing's winding hallway in pursuit, running through many sets of doors, relying only on the sound of the younger boy's pounding footsteps. She could tell that she was gaining on him when-

"ARGH!" With a muffled cry, Dominique crashed headlong into a closed door. She pushed on it. Locked.

She turned and walked briskly back to the main entrance way. As she passed by the front doors, she caught sight of what appeared to be four more students turning away from the end of the school's walkway.

It was _not_ turning out to be a good day. She strode to the open maintenance closet, grabbed the mop viciously, and returned to the puddle.

The moment that she had sufficient proof, that Gavroche kid was going to _get_ it.

EPONINE

She planned to skip her fifth period class so that she would have two lunch hours; the first being her normal one, and the second being the one that Cosette Fauchelevent had. The first started out as was expected; Gavroche bragged about his latest exploit involving Javert; Azelma bemoaned her grades, parentage, and life in general; Montparnasse "pick pocketed" the trays of any who came too close to the table; and Eponine sat in silence, gazing across the room at the back of Marius's head.

She came to, however, when Montparnasse elbowed her arm sharply.

"What, Parnasse?"

"I asked you a question."

"I didn't hear."

He smirked. "I need to know when your father wants to do the next house. Think you can remember? Or do I need to give you a _reminder_?" He glowered, and she looked back coldly.

"I'll ask for you. Whose house, this time?"

He gave her a look and then fished a piece of paper out of his pocket. "This address," he said, handing the paper to her elegantly before turning back to his numerous desserts, none of which he had paid for.

She unfolded the paper. "This address looks familiar. Who is it?"

He swallowed an ice-cream-covered French fry. "Fauch-something."

Eponine gave him a calculating look. "It's not Fauchelevent, by any chance, is it?"

"Yes; I think that was the funny name…"

Her eyes widened comically but Parnasse had gone back to his food and so didn't notice. She bit her lip, her teeth piercing her flesh until she bled.

ENJOLRAS

It was a little past noon, and The Spoken- minus, of course, that love-struck Marius- were clustered in the dining room of Enjolras' house around the oversized circular table.

"How much do you want to bet we get expelled for this?" Jehan asked glumly.

Grantaire shrugged. "Expel a potential Valedictorian? I think not," he said, glancing at Combeferre. "Though my money's still on Javert," he added as an afterthought.

Combeferre raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

Enjolras stood. "Does anybody need anything?"

Courfeyrac pushed back his chair to join him. "Lunch. Sandwiches. I'll help you make them."

"No meat for me or Jehan," Joly muttered.

"Peanut butter?" Courfeyrac smirked.

"Whatever."

Enjolras and Courfeyrac left the dining room and stepped into the adjacent kitchen, leaving the door open behind them so that they could still hear the others.

"I don't think we'll be expelled," Bahorel said uncharacteristically carefully. "I can definitely see suspension, but they wouldn't expel us over something like this."

"Oh?"

"What would be gained from expelling us?"

"Everything! So they have to get rid of two of the school's best students; so what? They're getting rid of the school's unofficial drunkard, the school's crazy liberal radical, half of the medical staff's workload, and the two students that are, perhaps, the worst troublemakers that history has ever seen…"

"You know, Lesgle, I really take offence at that," Courfeyrac called, emerging from the kitchen carrying two plates, each featuring two sandwiches. Enjolras followed close behind carrying two more plates, between which were distributed five more sandwiches.

The Spoken raised an eyebrow in unison; five of the sandwiches seemed to have more peanut butter on the outsidesof (rather than between) the slices. The remaining four were neat and perfectly quartered.

"Uh… Courfeyrac?"

"Hmm?"

"You know you're not very good at…" Joly trailed off at a furious glance from Enjolras who sat at the table, taking one of the neat sandwiches and passing the plates to his left.

"Now. In continuation of our conversation. I don't believe that we will be expelled; we may be suspended, but that's only temporary. In any case, we must decide what exactly we're going to do about the situation…"

"You mean, about the prayer?"

"Precisely." Enjolras was silent for a few moments. "Five of us have Orioril during the prayer. He does what he's told, but I suspect that he's the most opposed to The Victors on the staff."

"And you're thinking that he might make an allowance for us?" Combeferre asked skeptically.

"Well, yes; unofficially."

"And for those of us not genius enough to be taking Calculus? What of us?" Jehan asked, an eyebrow raised.

Enjolras bit his lower lip. "This solution is only temporary, of course… You might see if you can't get your study period moved." He sighed softly. "You see, though, that these two courses of action are hardly action at all. If we want change, we must make it ourselves."

"…But we all want to graduate," Combeferre added with a slow nod.

Enjolras frowned. "I hardly think that our actions should be motivated by fear of expulsion…"

"No. We're not getting kicked out, and that's that," Combeferre said. "If we're expelled, it'll mean that we have no pull for the rest of our lives; nine PhD's have more influence than nine non-high school graduates. Plain and simple."

Enjolras dropped his gaze and studied his knees.

Combeferre gave Enjolras a calculating look. "Oh, God; Enjolras, what are you planning?"

"I'm not planning anything…"

"Spill." Combeferre rolled his eyes, and then gently laid a hand on Enjolras' shoulder. "We have a right to know what your ideas are. If you don't tell us, you're no better than _them_."

Enjolras' posture stiffened visibly, but he raised his gaze to Combeferre's face. "Kindly remove your hand from my shoulder. You're getting peanut butter on my shirt." Combeferre nodded and, drawing back his hand, leaned back in his chair. The Spoken watched Enjolras carefully as he placed both hands palm-down on the table and began to speak.

"I'm not planning anything; I'm simply observing the state of things." He paused, furrowing his brow before continuing. "The massacre was an awakening. Those blind to the confluence of events have either awoken, or will as a result of the government's actions. School prayer! It will not be long before even _more_ unconstitutional action is taken… It is unlikely that the people will remain dormant. We have, indeed, reached the turning of the tide…"

"What are you trying to say?" Asked Combeferre, a look of disbelief mixing with one of sudden understanding on his face. Enjolras again dropped his gaze, not speaking.

"We said that within the next fifty years, there would probably be a Revolution," Joly said, his brow furrowed.

"And it was always our intent to attempt to see it succeed," Bahorel said, a gleeful smile spreading across is face.

Enjolras raised his head sadly. "What I'm saying, Combeferre, is that before you have a chance to graduate, we may well all be dead."


	8. 8

Many, many thanks to Toff for betaing this!

Now; question. I've tried to make the Javerts' motivations very clear in this chapter, but I'm not so sure that they aren't overly villianized. Comments would be most helpful.

EPONINE

Of course, it had occurred to her that her father's methods were none-too-gentle; more than once, the victims of his robberies emerged from the encounter slightly less than alive. She had asked on Montparnasse's behalf about the "Fauchelevent robbery," and she had been astounded to see the hate that her father seemed to carry in regards to the man of the house.

Cosette's father, then?

Yes. The hate against Cosette's father. If Thenardier were allowed to carry out this robbery, it was unlikely that anyone in the house would come through alive. This, Eponine thought, would benefit her; Cosette stood in her way, and she wanted Marius to herself. Why not assist her father, even? She certainly couldn't _stop_ him with the idea of Marius as _hers_ in her mind, could she?

…No. Wait. Marius knew about her father and his business practices; Marius's grandfather's retirement money had given out- something to do with privatizing something or another; she wasn't sure what- and the two had been forced to live in the same slum of an area that Eponine's family called "home." Marius had, of course, been a witness to a number of her father's operations. Marius, while absentminded, doltish, and unobservant, was not unintelligent. Though Marius and his grandfather had moved away to a better area over two years ago, she was sure that he would remember.

She winced. Would he possibly think that _she,_ Eponine, had had a hand in the robbery?

Not only was it possible- it was probable.

And _then_ what?

He'd hate her if Cosette were harmed. Oh, how she hated him! He was unsympathetic to her- he seemed to hate or fear her unless there was an errand to be run- oh, she hated him! But he spoke to her; wasn't that something? He would look at her, ask her questions… She could hear the sound of his voice! Would she be deprived of this in his anger, were Cosette to be harmed?

Well, then.

"I've got to stop him."

JAVERT

Philippe knocked curtly on the door of his daughter's bedroom with his spare hand. Surely she was awake already, readying herself for school.

"Come in."

He turned the doorknob and entered the room. His daughter stood before the mirror, her dark hair falling about her shoulders. He turned his head in disapproval. "What did I tell you about that?"

"About what?"

"Your hair, Dominique."

She sighed and threw one hand in the air while reaching for a rubber band with the other. "Fine," she said, shrugging as she pulled her hair into a neat ponytail. She then turned to look at him. "Did you need something?"

A rare smile crossed his face. "Let me ask you something, first. The prayer was started…?"

"Four days ago."

"And it's been successful?"

Dominique moved her hand in a 'so-so' gesture. "For the most part. There's a group of, shall we say, rebels who walked out on the first day because of it, but they've been suspended since; they come back today. I've heard that three of them had their study period moved to that hour, and that a fourth tried. It's a little odd, but there's only a few places they could be… I'll find them."

"Are those four the only problems?"

"No. There's five more, but they all have Calculus at that time, and I expect that that teacher would report anything... I might want to check on it myself sometime."

Philippe nodded. "You 'might want to'? I thought better of you. CONSTANT VIGILANCE," he barked suddenly, making Dominique jump slightly and avoid his searching eyes- they frightened her on occasions like this; they seemed to be able to see through lies, and deceit... It sometimes seemed to her that he was capable, even, of seeing through solid walls.

"I'm sorry." She paused, and looked at the ground. "What did you come in here for?"

"Rephrase that properly and I'll tell you."

She nodded. "Why did you come here? Was there something you needed?"

He sat down on her bed and motioned to the handful of papers he carried. "Read these."

She sat down beside him and scanned every sheet, her face becoming more and more elated with every sentence. "So… If this goes through… Separation of Church and State will be gone… This will make us a Christian nation?"

"That's the basic idea, yes. The specifics are, of course, far more in depth, but I wouldn't ask for you to read all of it."

"This is wonderful!"

"Indeed."

"When will it go through? Will it go through?"

Philippe nodded once, standing as he did so and straightening the bedspread in a compulsory movement. "It is more than likely that this bill will be passed; it is almost certain. _I_, for one, am certain, and my superiors are hopeful. If all goes as planned, this will take effect before the end of the week. Much has changed for the sake of expedience."

"Will there be more changes?"

Philippe tilted his head sharply, the motion making him look like a large parrot with unseemly sideburns. "That, Dominique, is a very broad question. However. I do not doubt that more changes of this nature are on the way. Of that, we may be assured."

"Excellent."

He faced her, suddenly solemn, his arms crossed. "I do not want you to become mindless."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Explain to me why _you_ believe this change to be, as you so ineloquently put it, 'excellent.'"

She shrugged. "Simple, really. The laws of this nation are based on the Ten Commandments. By restoring the Church to its rightful position, only order may ensue."

"Define order. Give me your predictions, as they are."

Her eyes rose to the ceiling. "The crime rate will, inevitably, decrease. The level of moral education- and education in general- will rise; the quality of life for all will increase. By learning piety, all will be more sympathetic… I can only imagine that trust in authority will give The Victors more power, and with power, how could they _not_ increase the quality of every life?"

Philippe nodded once, slowly before reclaiming his papers, seemingly thinking of her question. "There is, Dominique, a higher call. I can only be glad that you have answered it, as I have." He paused. "If you don't hurry, you _will_ be late for school."

"Of course."

THE SPOKEN

The bell rang, signifying the beginning of the prayer; the voice on the PA system solemnly (and mechanically) beginning to recite the now standard oath. Eight of The Spoken stood in a hallway of LMHS- three having left their study period, and five having walked out of their Calculus class, thankful for the fact that their teacher had simply looked away as they had passed.

"Poor Bahorel," Jehan muttered softly. Combeferre shrugged and was preparing to respond when a roar, accompanied by several cries of surprise and titters of amusement, echoed from a nearby classroom.

"ALLAH! ALLAH! FORGIVE ME MY SINS, ALLAH! SHIVA! VISHNU! KWAN YIN! O, MOTHER OF MERCY! I BOW BEFORE YOUR MIGHT! SATAN! LUCIFER, MY FATHER! TAKE ME TO THINE EMBRACE; THINE INFERNO! AH! I MUST BE SPEAKING IN TONGUES, AS NO ONE SEEMS TO KNOW WHAT THE HELL I'M YELLING ABOUT! WELL, THEN MAY THE GOVERNMENT 'EDJUMICATE' YOU ALL! AMEN! SHALOM, EVEN THOUGH I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THAT MEANS! MAY THERE BE PEACE ON EARTH! SO MOTE IT BE! BLESSED BE, MY BROTHERS, BLESSED BE!" There was then a resounding bang as the door to the classroom from which the shouts were echoing flew open, and Bahorel, red in the face, emerged, shaking with laughter, and pursued by an incensed English lit. teacher.

"Young man! What was that?!?"

Bahorel feigned surprise with shocking expertise and nearly convincing innocence. "Why, I was praying, Ms. Goulding."

She sighed muttering incoherently. "Fine! I'll move your study period!" She then retreated into the classroom, slamming the door behind her.

Bahorel grinned widely. "I _knew_ she'd succumb to my supreme powers of persuasion."

EPONINE

The tree in Cosette Fauchelevent's backyard was full of bugs, and she didn't like bugs, but she liked Marius even more than she didn't like bugs, so it was worth it. A tune was echoing through her head- a tune that she couldn't quite place. It felt old. She let it envelop her, almost to the point that she didn't hear her father and Montparnasse coming down the street. _Almost._

She glanced at the clock that was barely visible through the window of Cosette Fauchelevent's kitchen. It was half-past-eleven. 'Right.' She slid down out of the tree but remained in it's shadow as Montparnasse clambered over the fence, followed by Thenardier. Breathing slowly, she crossed the yard.

"Hello."

"Who the hell…?" Thenardier reached into his pocket and produced a sharp knife with a serrated blade that folded smoothly out of the handle. Eponine recognized the weapon well.

"Relax, daddy; it's me. I haven't seen you much today, and I've missed you. Have you missed me, daddy? Oh, you haven't thought of me? Well. Make it up to me, and kiss me now."

"Not _now,_ 'Ponine. Get out," he growled.

"Now, daddy. Is that any way to speak to your daughter?" She turned. "What about you, 'Parnasse? Would _you_ care to give me a kiss?"

"Shut up; leave us alone. _Now._"

She laughed loudly, but shortly. "I'm so under appreciated."

"Not so loud!" Thenardier hissed.

She stepped back, nodding. "What are you doing here?"

"What do you _think_?" Montparnasse shoved her aside roughly.

"I think that you're about to be sorely disappointed. The house doesn't have anything of value inside, but it _does_ have a nice security system. I came to warn you."

Thenardier sneered. "How nice of you to care. We do our homework; you should be home doing yours." He paused. "We know how to deactivate the system."

"To steal what? A cardstock table and some plastic chairs?"

"Get out of the way," Montparnasse snarled. "We'll tell you if there was anything of value. Would you like that?"

"I'll tell you what I'd like," she said, suddenly forbidding. "I'd like for you to leave."

Thenardier sighed. "Your _daddy_ has to make a living, doesn't he? We'll find nice things inside, and I'll find money, and buy you nice things…"

She backed away, sneering, suddenly more thoughtful than she'd ever been. "I've listened to enough. I've told you what I want." She held up a hand. "Now, listen to me. You two might be men, but I am a woman. Women are bitches, and bitches are dogs. That's right; I'm the guard dog. One scream is all I need; this is a well-to-do neighborhood, and the cops would be here in a second. Now, _get out._"

"You'll regret this for as long as you live."

"I don't intend to come home tonight."

D. JAVERT

She sat at the dinner table and scanned the paper, top to bottom, starting in surprise. She then began to read in depth. As the document was only one page long, it did not take her any significant period of time. Her face lit up slowly but gradually- like a building fire- until she radiated happiness. "Confessions of thoughts! Is this… Is this serious?"

Philippe nodded once, curtly.

"So… All citizens will be called upon to write out any negative thoughts they've had about the Government?"

He nodded again.

"And if anybody suggests anything to contradict the confessional, the guilty parties will have to stand trial as terrorists."

"Again, correct. This will purge the air of anything- or anyone- that might stand in the way of The Victors…"

"I can see that," she said, two tears of joy leaking down her cheeks. She stood and stepped happily into her father's embrace.

"The Empire is coming."

AN:

As the little revolution is going to start soon, I need some believable OC's. So if anybody wants to be in my story, email me telling me a bit about yourself, etc, etc; about as much as is given for one of Les Amis. Then, I write, and you tell me if you're IC or not. Bit of a challenge for me, all the more fun, you see?


	9. 9

WHOO! Did she actually decide to update? That's right; she did. Two people to thank: Toff and Bellaspirita for betaing with all their awesomeness.

Next, a second thank you to BellaSpirita who appears in this chapter- the first OC!- and actually rewrote most of her scene (all of her dialogue, and other sections) so make sure to credit her for that!

Moving on, thanks to all reviewers, and sorry about the teeny three month lack of updates.

COSETTE

_Whap!_

Cosette sat up with a start, her hair slightly mussed as she looked about wildly. Clapping a hand to her heart, she bit her lower lip, exhaling slowly.

"I imagined it," she said loudly, enunciating each syllable clearly. Presently, she felt her heart slow. She rearranged her pillows and slumped back into her bed, pulling her fluffy comforter around her once again, noticing gladly that the heat in her bed had not vanished with her fright.

_Whap!_

No imagining, this time. Gathering her courage, she slipped out of bed, crossing the floor to the window silently. She flipped the latch securing the shutters aside and pushed up on the glass. Steeling herself for the worst, she looked down.

"Marius!"

And indeed it was- Marius Pontmercy was outside her house, waist-deep in the back yard's shrubbery, throwing pebbles at her window. Shaking her head with exasperation and soundless mirth, Cosette threw her dressing gown over her pajamas and moved as silently as was humanly possible down the stairs, out the door into the yard.

"Marius, what are you…?"

He hushed her with a raised hand. "I looked for you during your lunch period. You weren't there. Why?"

Cosette bit her lip, glancing over her shoulder to ensure that the lights in her father's bedroom were still extinguished. They were. "I wasn't at _school_ today, Marius." She sighed. "Look at the flower beds," she muttered, pointing.

"What?"

"Look at them!" Marius nodded, and Cosette continued. "My dad weeds the garden every two weeks."

"Your dad gardens?"

"Yes. Shut up. Papa went through two weeks ago, and he went through again early this morning. He came in early, looking distraught. So I asked him what was wrong. He told me that _something_ had showed up in the garden- something had been left there since the last time he weeded. He wouldn't tell me what it was. And he… He seemed a bit disturbed. I really couldn't justify going to school and leaving him like this…"

Marius shrugged. "I'm sure it's nothing; some neighborhood kids likely threw something over the fence."

Cosette nodded, though she still looked troubled. "I'm sure that's it… I'm sure there's nothing to worry about."

Taking Cosette's hand, Marius led her to a small stone bench in the corner of the yard, squeezing her fingers in a comforting motion and glancing at her dressing gown as he did so. Catching sight of some embroidery, he reached out and smoothed the cloth, straining to see what it said. "Euphrasie?"

"Hmm?"

"Your robe. It says Euphrasie."

Smirking in an impossibly sweet manner, Cosette spoke. "My first name; I don't know why everybody insists on calling me Cosette. It's a nasty, common name."

They sat, still holding hands.

"I like it."

"Which?" Cosette tilted her head towards her right shoulder. "Euphrasie or Cosette?"

"Cosette." He lowered his lips to her pale, soft hand.

She was silent for a moment, and then slid closer to Marius. "In that case, I like it, too." He put his arm about her waist, and she leaned her head against the curve between his neck and shoulder. "It's turned so cold," she muttered, not wanting to move a muscle.

He drew her closer. "You should go in, then. You could catch something…"

She nodded. "Come back tomorrow?"

Pulling her into a deeper embrace, he kissed the top of her head. "I will."

Cosette rose and walked back to the back door of her house. Turning, she saw that Marius was still seated on the bench, watching her. She stepped closer to him, taking his hand and pulling him upright. Slowly, she raised her lips to meet his. "I love you." With that, she fled into the enveloping warmth of her home.

Stricken, Marius turned and climbed the fence, clumsily rattling the rusty chain that secured the gate.

As he did so, Jean Valjean made an unwelcome return to consciousness.

THE SPOKEN

"Please take your seats, children." Bahorel and Courfeyrac exchanged exasperated, albeit worried, looks, eyes turned towards the ceiling of the auditorium in a defiant gesture of bravado. Now they turned their attention to the older woman standing on the stage before the school's battered podium. "Now, I know that you're all wondering why you're here…"

"Hah! They're going to give us cookies," Gavroche hissed quite audibly from the seat next to Jehan.

"…So let me assure you that none of your valuable learning time will be wasted." Here, most of the school felt compelled to snicker. "Now. You are all about to be inducted…"

"This doesn't sound good," Combeferre muttered, watching Enjolras' lips press into a thin, tense line.

"…To a wonderful society for our nation's children!" A visceral shiver ran about the auditorium- a shiver mainly comprised of excitement, but also, in part, of severe apprehension. "This society is called the 'Victorious Youth,' and will connect all of you young people with other young people across our country. Now, may I introduce your newly-selected Officer, Dominique Javert?"

The applause was scattered at best.

"Dominique will now lead you in your pledge."

Dominique smiled and stepped behind the podium. "Thank you all. Now. If somebody would be so good as to dim the lights and focus the spotlight on our nation's banner…"

The lights went down, and a voice was heard to hiss, "Go!"

Moving in shadow, a few figures slipped from the darkened auditorium.

ENJOLRAS

"Wait," he whispered as The Spoken emerged, blinking in the sunlight of the main atrium. "Stand close to the doors; we'll want to hear what's going on."

Dominique's voice echoed clearly through the cracked doorway. "Place your hands over your heart, turn to face the flag, and repeat after me.

_I promise in the Victorious Youth _

_To do my duty at all times _

_In love and faithfulness to the Leaders… _

_So help me, God._

Congratulations; you are now all members of the Victorious Youth. Now. If somebody would be so kind as to bring the lights back up…" Enjolras peered through the gap between the double doors.

"Well, that was sonorous," Grantaire mumbled.

"Shut up!"

Dominique's voice continued. "Now, in accordance with some new Governmental requirements…"

"Dieu," Bahorel muttered.

"… We would like for you all to take a sheet of paper- I'll pass some around- and write down any problems that you see with the Victorious Administration; with our government. As members of the Victorious Youth, you are all encouraged to have a voice in Governmental affairs…"

"That's bull," Courfeyrac hissed. "Isn't that the same line they used in Communist China? And if you say _anything_ that they don't like…" He ran a finger across his throat in an unmistakable gesture.

"Now, please do not shirk your duties in this matter- this will be asked of all citizens. However, if you have no suggestions for the Government, you are welcome to say so. If you choose to, you may compliment certain aspects of…"

Enjolras shook his head. "We should leave now, before they see us."

"Where to?"

"The café. We ought to pick up a newspaper on the way as well; if this has been reported, we'll need to see where the press stands."

JEHAN

There on the street, the newspaper was ripped apart, each of the nine shouting the headlines for the others to hear, voices raised and overlapping in excitement, anger, and fear.

"Confessional! Thirty-two arrested as terrorists in New York!"

"Streets and highways blockaded in NYC and DC!"

"Uprisings and disorder…"

And, inevitably…

ENJOLRAS

"Let's build a barricade."

The backroom of the café fell silent as Combeferre gave a start and turned to look at Enjolras, his brow furrowed in a classic 'what the hell?' look. "Excuse me?"

"This is enough; the people have begun to rise. We always said that we'd aid the revolution when it came; so let us do as we said."

"A barricade," Combeferre said softly, slowly, as if tasting the word. "Why the hell would we want to do that?"

"You know your history, Combeferre. You tell _me_."

"You mean… The French Revolution."

"Certainly, you've noticed parallels between their situation and ours. It seems fitting."

Combeferre raised an eyebrow. "And who would lead this… this…insurrection?"

Enjolras lifted his chin sharply. "I will."

The table exchanged glances. "Er… Don't take this personally… But… _They will fry us if we so much as think about this._" Jehan said, every muscle in his body tense. "Don't misunderstand; we _will_ follow you- likely to what fate we all fear…"

Here he paused, and there was only silence.

"…But are you _sure_ that's the way to go?"

"Look around you! Look at the past fifty years! How do you suggest we go about this? Peaceably… I concur; that would be preferable. Perhaps several thousand lawsuits may be in order? Shall we file them now? No; that's been tried and the involved parties have been arrested as terrorists and shall be executed in light of the massacre. Shall we hold public debates? No; again, we shall be executed as terrorists, should we try." He was silent for a long moment. "We shall meet the same fate, whatever we do. History has spoken. Has anybody a better idea? The idea of a violent death rather discomforts me. Say what you can; once we begin, there will be no going back."

The room was silent.

"Very well; with an insurrection in mind… Well. We'll need more than a handful of schoolchildren; that's certain. Ammunition, a location for the barricade… This is a hefty undertaking." Enjolras stood, his eyes gleaming. "Well, then. We'd best get started. Courfeyrac. You will go to the rest of the students who would be willing to support our cause. Hunt around, but keep your head down. Feuilly. Didn't you have a friend with an uncle who dealt in firearms? Can you talk to her? Combeferre and I will begin a bit of writing… Some literature to distribute to stir the area into action. Jean, you'll help us with that… Bossuet, Joly- don't you have connections at the University? Can you go to them? Bahorel. If you could go to the Plant, the afternoon shift's just getting off in a half hour. They're an enthusiastic crowd there, and they've probably gotten the worst out of the economic drop- I don't doubt that they would be useful." He looked at his watch. "It's half past five now. Tomorrow is Saturday…" He broke off, thoughtful. "Meet here at six o'clock tomorrow."

"Morning?"

"Of course."

Quickly, eight of The Spoken exited the café.

Who was the exception? Well. You may guess, for this is what he said:

"You're an ingrate, Enjolras. I won't come to your funeral…"

FEUILLY

He knocked repeatedly on the door; still no one was coming. He knew that she was home, but that she had a tendency to glue her nose to the monitor while working and ignore anything else. Sighing, he continued to knock for a further five minutes before the door opened a crack, and a face appeared on the other side.

"What kept you?"

She lifted an eyebrow. "Well, it's a pleasure to see you, too." The door opened fully. She had grown since last he had seen her, though she was hardly what anybody could call _tall_; she stood a full head beneath him at five feet and two inches. Her dark brown hair had grown as well; it now reached her waist.

"Thanks, Caitlin." He stepped into the foyer of her house, and she led him into the kitchen.

"Want something to drink?"

He shook his head. "I'm fine, thanks." Taking the chair she offered him, he glanced across the table at her. "So…"

"So, tell me, what's new and exciting? How's school?"

"Turning progressively fascist, actually."

"So I've heard. And I'd imagine that that's why you're here...?"

He smiled vaguely. "Yes. Okay. Long story."

"Do tell."

"Well. You know about the riot in NYC, right? And everything else that's happening? Various uprisings, so on, so forth…"

She made a dismissive gesture. "Oh, I heard something or other," she said wryly. "Sixty-seven college students gunned down by pigs in riot gear or some such thing."

Feuilly shook his head. "Most people- kids, I mean- don't know."

"Well, 'most kids' aren't exactly rocket scientists, now, are they?"

Again, Feuilly shook his head. "No. They're not." He sighed. "Well…"

Caitlin snorted. "Let me venture a guess. You're planning an insurrection, and you want me to provide the ammunition."

"My, but you're astute…"

Standing swiftly, the legs of her chair screeching, Caitlin shook her head. "No-no-no. Am I to understand that you actually, in all seriousness, want _me_ to-?"

"Well, you said it!"

"Sarcasm, Feuilly!" Brushing her hair out of her eyes, she leaned a hand on the table, and leaned her weight on her hand. "I _do_ hope that you realize how heavily-regulated firearms are. It would be nearly impossible to pull off a stunt like this-"

Feuilly grabbed her arm. "Look. Your uncle deals in firearms, right? You could pull something like this off with his help."

She was silent for a moment. "It's not impossible," she said finally.

He sighed, pushing himself further back into his seat. "Isn't there some sort of black market…?"

Caitlin laughed –rather mirthlessly- and sat again. "Yeah. Yes, there is."

"And can you work with it?"

She leaned forward, her elbows resting on the table. "I _might_ be able to. It would be a calculated risk, but I could probably get my uncle to give me the access codes if I tell him that…I'm an officer in the Victorious Youth or something- yes, he supports them; and no, he's not exactly the brightest light in the harbor. But if I'm found out, you _do_ realize that I'll be arrested, and my uncle will likely be stripped of his license and locked up with me. Right?"

"Right. So you'll do it?"

She sighed. "What the hell. I need to get out of the house anyway."


End file.
